


Your Reward Ye Shall Have

by sussexbound (SamanthaLenore)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Angelic Love, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Intimacy, M/M, Physical Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 21:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaLenore/pseuds/sussexbound
Summary: It is not the first time Aziraphale has considered giving in.  But tonight, sitting snug in his armchair at the back of his bookshop, and staring over at the demon sound asleep on the sofa across from him, he hopes it will be the last.  Some temptations are worth giving into, he thinks.  And sometimes the things you think of as temptation turn out not to be temptation at all.  Sometimes they are simply what is right.Aziraphale has decided to stop fighting, to stop second-guessing, to stop ALWAYS putting Heaven first, when Heaven clearly doesn’t give a toss about him—about him, or the world, or—or…Crowley mumbles something in his sleep, unfurls his long limbs for a moment, before tucking them back in, curling tight, arms wrapped around his knees.  He shudders and then settles again with a sigh, and Aziraphale loves him.





	Your Reward Ye Shall Have

**Author's Note:**

> I find tagging Angelic love making difficult, because it doesn't exactly reflect human love making, so I suppose I'll just say that this fic contains what could be considered by some to be Angelic/Etheric/Energetic foreplay and Wing Play? It more teases along the edges rather than getting hot and heavy (as you can probably also tell by the rating), but I honestly had no idea how to tag, so hopefully this note will be helpful.

It is not the first time Aziraphale has considered giving in.But tonight, sitting snug in his armchair at the back of his bookshop, and staring over at the demon sound asleep on the sofa across from him, he hopes it will be the last.Some temptations are worth giving into, he thinks.And sometimes the things you think of as temptation turn out not to be temptation at all.Sometimes they are simply what is right.

Aziraphale has decided to stop fighting, to stop second-guessing, to stop ALWAYS putting Heaven first, when Heaven clearly doesn’t give a toss about him—about him, or the world, or—or…

Crowley mumbles something in his sleep, unfurls his long limbs for a moment, before tucking them back in, curling tight, arms wrapped around his knees.He shudders and then settles again with a sigh, and Aziraphale loves him.

Oh, he’s always loved him.It was difficult not to.Crowley had always been so charming and funny, so brilliant and cunning, so unwittingly good and half-heartedly wicked, and every time Aziraphale had seen his face, or heard his voice, or felt his energy fill a room, the love inside of him had grown just a little more, until the sheer strength and magnitude of it had begun to overpower any conflict he might feel, and now—now the thing growing inside of him is so large, so warm, so bright, that he can’t fathom how it could be considered sin, and he doesn’t even particularly care if it is, because he’s long since lost confidence in Heaven’s measure of love.

The world had ended and been reborn a month ago and Aziraphale had learned what it might be like to be without—without a body, without a friend, without his books, and his food, and shared bottles of wine.It had felt—cold.Cold, and empty, and horribly lonely.Crowley had offered to take him anywhere he wanted to go, once upon a time.And Aziraphale has known precisely the direction Crowley was hoping he’d point them in for at least the past 50 years.It’s time.

It’s easy.He just stops fighting.Everything else is already there.Instinct.Yearning.A soft tug somewhere up and under the middle of his ribcage.There is a pillow on the floor beside the sofa.He slips out of his chair, and kneels on it.He watches Crowley’s nose twitch in his sleep, and imagines it is because Crowley can smell him, the nearness of his human body, the way the chemistry has shifted; just a little more dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, endorphins.Perhaps Crowley can sniff out love in the same way Aziraphale can sense it.Second nature.

“Crowley…”A whisper that seems to dissolve in the dim, womb-like interior of the shop.

Aziraphale leans down, rests his chin on the seat of the sofa and gazes until Crowley stirs.Snake eyes slide open, blink once.

“Angel?”It’s half-drunk and mussy with sleep.“Whudryoudoing?”

Aziraphale smiles.“Hello.”

Crowley doesn’t say anything, just lies very still, forgetting to breathe.

“I’ve been wondering…What are your thoughts on a holiday?”

Crowley does blink at that, sucks in a sharp breath, blinks again.“No objections—generally.”

“You and me, obviously.”

“Right.”

“Away from London, I thought.”

“Right.”

“Somewhere—quiet?”

“Right.”

“You’re repeating yourself, Dear.”

“Right.I mean, yeah.I mean…”Crowley swallows dryly, eyes darting down to Aziraphale’s hand when it reaches out to cover his.

“We’ve earned it, certainly.”

“Yeah…”Crowley breathes, eyes glued to the spot where Aziraphale’s thumb is whispering over the back of his hand.

Crowley’s hands are smooth and cool.Nice.Like the smooth underbelly of reptile he once was.Aziraphale wonders what they would feel like on his face, the back of his neck, arms, chest, back….His cheeks heat, and Crowley must notice, because his pupils dilate a little, and his mouth curls up in one corner before his lips part.

“We going to drive there?”

“It would probably be fastest.”

Crowley’s eyes are searching his now.“Mm.Well, figured you were looking for a little relaxation.Know I can go a bit fast for you sometimes.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Me?”

“Us.You’ll get us there in one piece.You always do.”

Crowley’s brows do a dance Aziraphale can’t quite interpret.“Right.Okay.”

Crowley doesn’t move, save for his eyes, which drop back down to their joined hands, pupils blown so wide, his normally amber eyes look black. 

Aziraphale is close enough to feel him, to feel the magnetic energy he is constantly exuding, drawing him in, prickling over his skin, and causing the hairs on his arm to stand up.It tugs at him like a riptide, makes him feel like he is being swept out to sea, beyond the sight and safety of the shore.It’s rather exhilarating, and it is, Aziraphale suddenly realises, love.Not just the love that he has always felt for Crowley, but the love that Crowley feels for him, and it is humming, and thrumming now, just beneath his skin, making his lids feel heavy and his mouth dry, and his very human flesh tingle and heat.

“Crowley, would you like…”He hesitates.“Would you permit me to…”

Crowley’s eyes snap up to his, listless black pools.“Whatever you want, Angel.Anything.Whatever you want.”

And oh, isn’t that nice, Aziraphale thinks, the sweet desperation in Crowley’s voice, the supplication, the surrender.He’s beautiful, magnificent.

“I’m going to touch you.”

Crowley simply nods.

“And you would tell me, wouldn’t you, if it’s not to your liking.”

“Yes, Angel.”

“Very good then.”

Aziraphale can feel the heat in his cheeks, and not just there, but everywhere.It suffuses his skin, down his neck, across his chest, just below his navel, between his thighs.He has experienced these sensations before, of course—sheer curiosity at the rather remarkable variety of ways humans chose to express love had led him to witness, and a couple of times, when desperate times had called for desperate measures, even to peripherally participate in intimate acts.He had thwarted a troubled lad from doing harm to himself, had provided much needed physical and emotional release to a hurting soul.All in a day's work.His duty as an angel.In fact, due to his unique physiology, and his predilection for, and insistence upon love during any encounter, he had been a bit of a coveted novelty in the limited sphere of his society—adored, desired, even reviled by some. 

But this thing with Crowley is something altogether different.To touch, to tender, to heal a human being is one thing, but to do the same with a demon, a fallen angel, better yet, _his_ angel!Well…

Unheard of.Forbidden. 

_Sublime._

Crowley has so often seemed more comfortable than Aziraphale in his flirtation with the world, so much more at home in his earthbound skin, with little to no concern for what Hell might think of his habits, his indulgences, those he chooses to fraternise with.Fallen already.What does it matter?He embraces it.But outside of work Crowley seems to fraternise with very few, and where Aziraphale’s bookshop is homely, and warm, and filled with good food, and good wine, and all the comforts of the flesh, Crowley’s flat had turned out to be surprisingly spare.None of the aesthetic pleasures Aziraphale had expected to find, save for a few pieces of gifted or commissioned artwork, a verdant, thriving indoor garden, and a large bed that had felt more like it was used for actual sleeping than any more earthy pursuits.Just as there is more to Aziraphale than Crowley has probably ever guessed, Aziraphale is quite certain that Crowley is something very different than strutting, smug, flash bastard he presents to the world.

At the moment Crowley is a thing of beauty spread out on the sofa, limbs and hair all askew, cheeks every bit as pink as Aziraphale’s, though Aziraphale doesn’t think he’ll mention it, not this time, not quite yet.He is the perfect picture of eager, willing submission, and that does something to Aziraphale he had not expected, curls tight in his center, and blossoms into something warm, and rich, and aching.Because oh—oh, doesn’t he just crave to gather him up, to soothe, to cherish, to take care of him.

Aziraphale drags his eyes slowly down the long, lean length of him in appreciation, wholly without shame, and draws closer until he knows Crowley must feel the whisper of Aziraphale’s breathe against his lips, the brush of Aziraphale’s curls against his forehead, the heat of Aziraphale’s ethereal body reaching out, spreading to envelop them both.

They are alone at the very back of the shop.The doors are locked.The weather outside is a wild tempest.No one will disturb them, not from Earth, not from Heaven, not from Hell.Aziraphale gathers his thrumming, pulsing core close and tight, before letting go, and unfurling his wings in a burst of warmth and light.

Crowley’s eyes go wide, and then his eyelids droop over his night-black eyes, and he makes the smallest sound, a sound Aziraphale has never heard escape his throat before.A whimper.And Aziraphale thinks he might do it now, finally, might dare touch him, and so he curls his wings around them, enclosing, sheltering, blocking out the storm, and the lamplight, and the quiet hum of sparse, late night traffic, until there is just the downy softness of white feathers, and lavender dusk, and Crowley’s shallow, hungry breathing, and he lifts his hands to Crowley’s face, cradles it in his hands, and smiles softly when Crowley can’t meet his gaze.It’s alright.

“It’s alright.”He strokes his fingers through Crowley’s hair, and finds it soft.It weaves about his fingers, and Crowley turns into the touch, pushes into it like he needs it, like the warm caress of Aziraphale’s hands are a healing balm.“It’s alright,” Aziraphale leans down, and whispers against his cheek, brushes his chin along the line of Crowley’s jaw, nuzzles at his earlobe with his nose.

He expects Crowley to do something predictably and deliciously wicked.To grab his face, and kiss him deeply, to reach out, grab hold, and pull their human bodies together in a twining, surging, primal dance.But he doesn’t.He doesn’t.He rolls onto his back, whines again, high and desperate in his throat, and throws both hands above his head.

“Goodness,” Aziraphale whispers without thought.“My Heaven, you’re lovely.”

Crowley’s face is a mask of pain, and grief, and desperation, and that won’t do.It just won’t do at all.

“Tell me what you need, Crowley.”

Crowley’s eyes screw shut, the corners wet, and Aziraphale decides to take pity on him. 

If Heaven were keeping track this would be considered a frivolous miracle, but they’re not.The narrow, cramped little sofa flattens out into proper bed.If Crowley notices, he doesn’t give any indication, but it gives Aziraphale much needed room to manoeuvre.He crawls over to straddle Crowley’s thighs, eases his wings under and around him, and then leans down and presses both Crowley’s wrists, gently, firmly into the mattress. 

Just like that Crowley stills. 

He lets out a stuttering sigh, and all the tension drains out of him.

“There.Better.Much better.Perfect.”

Because Crowley is.His face has gone lax, and his lashes look like two smudges of dried blood against his cheeks, and his mouth is… pink and parted, warm and wet. 

“I—I think I’d very much like to kiss you.”

He sees Crowley's eyes roll back beneath closed lids, and his hips arch up off the cradle of Aziraphale’s wings. 

Closer.

He wants to be closer.

Aziraphale feels it, tastes it, senses and hears it as though it is his own thought, and he can see a beautiful dark shimmer in the air around them,Crowley letting go of his earthly glamour, letting his wings coalesce in the thick, heated air between them.It’s incredibly intimate.Aziraphale curls his wings around Crowley’s back, lets go of his wrists to slip his arms around his waist, and pulls him up and in, close against his chest.He can feel their hearts beating in synchrony as they sit there entwined.He can feel Crowley’s wings unfurl to curl around them, cocooning them both in complete, comforting darkness. 

He clings to Aziraphale like he’s drowning.

“Stay.”Whispered into Aziraphale’s hair.

“Of course.”

“No, I mean…No more assignments.No more trips to Edinburgh, or the Continent, or America.”

Aziraphale smiles.“You’re the one with a penchant for America, Dear”

“Mm…Move fast over there.Like that.”

“I’m sure you do. But as you so sagely observed last month, there are no more sides, no more bosses, no more assignments, are there?”

“Thought you might make some up.”

“Why ever would I do that?”

Crowley’s fingers stir at Aziraphale’s waist, and his nose burrows a little more deeply into the curls at his temple.Crowley’s face feels hot against his forehead.He doesn’t say anything.He doesn’t need to.They’re close enough now, hearts beating as one, wings entwined, bodies pressed together, that Aziraphale just _sees_ ; the question answered almost the moment it was asked.He feels Crowley’s face go hotter still.

“No.”He slides his hands up Crowley's spine, whispers his fingers over the juncture of shoulder blade and wing, and hears Crowley’s breath catch as he shivers.“No, I think I’ll stay,” Aziraphale assures him.“As I said, I believe a holiday is in order. Leisurely dinners.Afternoons reading.Morning walks on the beach.”

Crowley’s head drops to Aziraphale’s shoulder, face pressed into his neck.“Breakfast in bed?” He mumbles against heated skin.

Aziraphale smiles.“One of us will have to get up to cook it, of course.Best be me, don’t you think.You are such an irredeemably lazy creature, and you don’t care a jot for food.”

He feels Crowley huff against him.His hands drop to cup around Aziraphale’s bum and pull him closer.

“But I utterly refuse to do another thing beyond that.”Aziraphale pouts a little for emphasis.“After all, a holiday is a holiday.”

“‘Course.”Crowley smiles against him.

“Well, good.”

Crowley’s fingers curl and dig into Aziraphale’s gluteal muscles and when he sighs hot against his neck, Aziraphale hums, and rubs his hand down Crowley’s back, up again, stopping to gentle the roots of his wings, palm his scapulars.They are silky soft, smooth, warm with the heat of Crowley’s body, and no doubt the energy it took to unfurl them a few moments earlier.

“You have the loveliest wings, do you know.Pity the light in here is so low.”And when Crowley says nothing.“Remember that night in Siberia?The aurora?”Aziraphale drags the backs of his fingers over Crowley’s down feathers, all the way down to the tip of his alula, back up again, dips his fingers gently in and heats at the soft, low sound Crowley makes at the back of his throat, the way his fingers grip the flesh either side of Aziraphale’s spine, and his chest thrusts outward, seeking more contact, heart-to-heart through layers of clothing.“Shimmering colour against velvet black.” Aziraphale murmurs into his hair.“Beautiful.Beautiful…”

“Used to be copper.”

Aziraphale pulls back a little.It is the first time Crowley has ever mentioned his pre-Fall form.“Did they?Mmm.Well, I’m sure they were very lovely, Dear, but copper wings with auburn hair…Seems a bit much.”He reaches out and strokes as far as he can down the length of one primary.But this—this is wonderful.”

Crowley’s breath catches at the sensation.He pushes his chest out again, and Aziraphale laughs.“Patience is clearly not one of your virtues.”

Crowley frowns.“Demons don’t have virtues.Besides, I’ve been waiting for six thousand years, Angel.I’d say I’ve been more than patient.”It’s very cheeky of him, but Aziraphale decides not to chastise.He’s right really.He is right, and Aziraphale can’t help but feel the softest twinge of guilt, and more than that, the profound ache that comes from having hurt his dear and beautiful boy.

Crowley must see it, because the frown devolves into a look of fond irritation.“Don’t go giving me that look, Angel.You’ll ruin the whole evening.”

“Mmm.Well, you still haven’t told me what you want, Crowley.I’m not a mind reader.”

“Yeah, you are.”he winks, and Aziraphale drops his eyes, shy and a little coy, in precisely the way Crowley likes.It’s a game they play.They both enjoy it.That’s what human flirtation is, really.But the stakes are higher tonight, and Aziraphale wants to make sure they don’t just tease around it this time, because Crowley is right.He has been patient, incredibly, sweetly, miraculously patient, and that shouldn’t go unrewarded.Best, perhaps, to be quite plain.

“I see.Well then, I think that you had best move in with me, or me with you, it doesn’t really matter.”

Crowley’s eyes go wide, and the corners of his mouth quirk upward in pleased astonishment, in very much the same way they had all those millennia ago, when he’d slithered up beside Aziraphale in Eden and been informed that the Angel of the Eastern Gate had just given away his flaming sword.

“Angel…I didn’t know you cared.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, please.Of course I care, I just…”Aziraphale’s eyes drop.He is ashamed of himself.He is.“I’m a bit slow, old-fashioned, as you’re so often observing.It took me awhile to catch up.I’m sorry.”

Crowley’s wings flutter, and then draw in close again.“Well, the way I figure the maths, you’ve been dancing around me the last six thousand years, so you’ve got another six thousand to make it right.”

Aziraphale smiles up at him from beneath his lashes.“That sounds very fair.”

“Might start by going back to whatever that was you were up to before.”

“Oh?Which part?”

Crowley’s arms slip away from Aziraphale’s waist, and he lays himself out on the mattress again, wings flung wide, and stretches his hands over his head, arms crossed at the wrists.When he’s settled, he thrusts his chest up a little as though punctuating his point.

Aziraphale grins.“Ahh.I see.”He leans down, hands braced either side of Crowley’s ears, careful not to crush his feathers.“And we can leave for holiday tomorrow?”

“If you like.”

“And you’ll promise to drive like a normal person?”

Crowley’s eyes narrow.He sighs deeply and arches his chest up again in impatience.“Yes.Fine.”

“Very good.”Aziraphale leans down to nudge at Crowley’s temple with his nose, slides his hands up to pin his wrists again.“Then, My Dear, your reward ye shall have.”


End file.
